


Flesh Is Our Price

by Calleva



Category: Aethelflaed/Erik - Fandom, Aethelrik - Fandom, The Last Kingdom (TV), The Warrior Chronicles | The Saxon Stories - Bernard Cornwell
Genre: F/M, Porn, Romance, Smut, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 10:55:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11645127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calleva/pseuds/Calleva
Summary: "Our original offer still stands," Interrupted Sigefrid.Aethelflaed raised an eyebrow and sipped from her glass. "Which was?""Yourself, lady."The new Lady of the Mercians wants the Vikings out of London, but will she pay their price to save her people?





	1. Lundene, Kingdom of Mercia

Aethelred was dead. Having eaten a bowl of tainted oysters, he had been feeling queasy all the next day, until, ending the negotiations with the Thurgilsons, he missed the step at the top of the old Roman temple and fell to the bottom, breaking his neck.

Aethelflaed tried to feel sorrow, but it was difficult. To add to the mixture of regret, anguish and frustration from four months of marriage, she had been told about the conversation with the two Northmen. Her husband had offered them silver to take their army out of Lundene. For some reason they had decided to play with him, exploiting his self-importance.  
"My spies tell me you are to marry Alfred's daughter,"  
"Your spies are wrong Lord, I have already married Alfred's daughter." Aethelred had smirked.  
"How does she ride?" asked the elder brother.  
"I have no complaint."

Aethelflaed felt the double degradation: by his choosing to answer and his demeaning choice of words. A man even slightly in love would not have said anything. 'No complaint' indeed! Well he may not have any complaint, but she had had plenty. The original conversation had continued in a similar bantering tone, the brothers insisting that Aethelflaed herself was their price until her husband realised angrily that he was being teased. Perhaps this had led to him slipping on the top step.

Well, if she wanted it, she was now in control in Mercia, but she must act swiftly before one of her husband's circle moved in.

Anger gave her courage. 

Lundene was a remarkable old city and the richest in Mercia. Most of its buildings dated from Roman times, with lovely old squares, some still with water troughs and broken fountains. For his residence Aethelred had chosen one of the largest villas with the old basilica nearby for formal occasions but Aethelflaed privately thought his choice unwise. The villa was huge and showy but had become fragile and looked unsafe. Now able to make her own pick, she had her eye on a smaller, sturdier one a couple of streets further away which made it quieter. It fronted onto a small square and was on rising ground, with good views; she could just see the Wessex hills in the distance. Home.

Nothing could be done to secure Lundene from the Northmen until Aethelred was laid to rest with suitable solemnity and dignity. 

Meanwhile Sigefrid and Erik continued their reign. They had set up their own quarters near the old amphitheatre. They had been in no hurry to leave, the old city was full of secrets and they had a mind to uncover them. Ships arrived by river full of goods for the markets. They had only to place tariffs on everything to make a good profit.

The death of the Lord of Mercia had briefly confused them - who would they be dealing with now? They had stalled on the agreement to leave, having fun with the self-important pig's arse of a man who had married the King's daughter, but knowing how hard the city was to defend, they intended to take the silver and go. Eventually.  
"Looks as if the widow will be taking over now," said Haesten, who had been talking to some Saxon guards. "Alfred's daughter sounds quite a woman. They say she is not only the best horsewoman in Wessex but is handy with a sword. Interesting to see how she deals with us."  
"I heard she is beautiful and accomplished," said Erik thoughtfully.  
"Perhaps we should hump her first, then leave." his brother replied. The two brothers looked at each other and an idea played across their faces.

_Two Months Later_

Alfred had given his daughter full authority to act in his name so Aethelflaed was able finally to establish herself in Mercia. Gone were the restrictions, the dull days of doing nothing, banished to private quarters so she could not speak to the household guards. Gone was the constant mistrust, the bruises, the brutal sex, the unreasonable jealousy. It was hard to be in mourning for a man she had never even liked. Now freed to act for herself, Aethelflaed restructured her household, rid it of Aldhelm, a dreadful little man who had encouraged Aethelred in his unreal ambitions, and began to assert herself. 

Lundene was a case in point. She started to strengthen and furnish the little villa she had chosen with its pretty rear courtyard and balcony view onto the public square. To decorate the main hall downstairs she had her the Mercian banner and some old Roman weapons. It was coming along nicely. But the Thurgilson problem must be handled. She had been putting it off. Would they tease her in the same way they had her husband? She could bribe them but there was no guarantee that they would not be back.

A servant had brought them into a small receiving room in the old basilica. There were silken couches around a low metal table in the Roman style; it was all a little flamboyant, chosen to impress by Aethelred and Aldhelm. The brothers were looking around them at the colourful wall hangings when Aethelflaed appeared in the doorway. She was wearing a sombre green dress with gold brocade. It matched her golden hair which fell in waves down her back. Her expression was regal with the quiet confidence of real power. She gave the glimmer of a smile and nodded to them. "Gentlemen," she said.  
"We are sorry for your loss, Lady," said Erik, standing and bowing. His brother remained seated but watched her intently. She was certainly a good looking woman he thought. Erik introduced themselves to her "We failed to come to an agreement with your husband..." he continued, but she cut him short.  
"Well you are dealing with me now," It was unmistakeable, that firmness which indicated that she was not Aethelred. "Perhaps," she went on, sitting on the couch at right angles to theirs, and pouring three glasses of water from a metal jug, "we might consider the matter of the tariffs. You leave, and I can guarantee a proportion of the take, on condition that you improve the steps leading to the river and the jetties. The increased traffic has ..."  
"Our original offer still stands," Interrupted Sigefrid. Aethelflaed raised an eyebrow and sipped from her glass. "Which was?"  
Erik looked at his brother, caught his eye and gave a slight conspiratorial smile. "Yourself, lady."  
Aethelflaed placed her glass on the table and looked coolly at them. She had heard what had been said at the previous meeting with her husband; "She has beauty and a fine mind, I have need of a wife," "And I have need of a hump - we will share her." It had been said to rattle her husband and it had succeeded but no one had taken it literally.  
"Please be serious, I have not time for this." she said simply.  
"We are," said Erik, "But we will lower our terms this time. We will share you just once, then we will leave."  
"You are not talking to Aethelred," said his widow calmly, "and both you and I know this is not a serious offer. You are Danes and you will not go for anything less than silver, which I'm offering you."  
"We have silver enough," said Sigefrid, "we are asking for a hump. One each."  
Aethelflaed sighed, then gave an amused smile; they were not going to see her rattled. "Come back when you are in a mood to talk," she said, getting to her feet.  
"But we are serious, Lady. These are our terms. Do you accept them or not?"  
She found herself rising to the challenge. There was only one way to play this game, "Your terms are such a bad deal for you that I cannot believe you mean it. You are saying you will leave for so little as a - favour - from me. I am not worth Lundene, you and I both know this. You could get similar for a couple of coins at the local ale house without giving up anything. And she would no doubt be better value."  
"Ah but not a King's daughter," said Sigefrid slowly, leaning back into the cushions behind him. Aethelflaed regarded the brothers. They looked back at her. There was no leering. They seemed perfectly straight, but she couldn't risk looking a fool.  
"Very well, I agree. Now can we get down to terms.... the tariffs?"  
"We don't want the tariffs," said Sigefrid. "Just yourself."

Slowly she began to think that the brothers might not be joking. They had been in the city for some time now and were no doubt bored of it. True, they were taking money from traders, but they had to keep their army quartered and fed. These men were getting restless. There were rumours of the city's residents being constantly intimidated by the Danish fighters, and the surrounding countryside was frequently being raided. Aethelflaed needed them to be out. Could she really lie with both of these men, whom she did not know and who were her father's enemies? If it meant saving her people from hardship then she might have to.... if it was the only way she could regain the peace.

"We will leave it to you to arrange a time and place. We don't want to damage your reputation." Sigefrid said in his slow Danish accent, as if he were doing her a favour. The two men rose to their feet. Aethelflaed noted for the first time how big they were compared to herself. Especially the younger one who was now looking at her with an inscrutable expression on his face. They were intimidating, like most Danes, with their dark-rimmed eyes and mainly shaved heads , but with a top layer of hair tied back into a high braid. Both were wearing leather armour, and both had animal skins around their necks. On their hips were their narrow-hilted Viking longswords. They bowed formally to her.

"I have conditions," she said unevenly, thinking fast. Some things had to be said face to face. Their heads turned to one side almost in unison.  
"Firstly, you must be washed, and I mean properly clean. You will tell no one of this... arrangement" she faltered, knowing that this was not possible to enforce, "and what passes between us must be simple and basic. Nothing violent, painful or exotic."  
They appeared to consider this, "This is reasonable," said Erik. Sigefrid shrugged, "well all we asked for was a hump." he replied. They looked at Aethelflaed who gave a businesslike smile. "And that is what we have agreed on," she said in a soft but firm voice. "Come to my private residence on Saturn's Day just before sundown. And don't eat first." She gave a brief bow, turned away and left.

Walking away from the basilica, Aethelflaed's mood changed. What had she done? Did she love her father's people - her people - enough to go ahead with this? And what would the brothers be like? She shuddered to herself when she remembered Aethelred's bedtime tastes. She was expected to lie there and accept his attentions which were brutally quick. 

She realised that she had no idea how other people lay together. There would be only one person who could help: Ingibjorg. Inga was a childhood friend and had been her closest confidante and best friend in the world. Her parents were Danish Christian nobility and Alfred considered her a suitable playmate for his daughter. Since Inga had married, the two women had rarely met but Aethelflaed knew she was currently in Wessex. Inga was always the more sophisticated and with her pale skin, white blonde hair and glass-blue eyes, she used her beauty like a weapon and she knew men. There was just time to meet up.


	2. Sigefrid

Erik and Sigefrid made their way on foot across Lundene. It was a fine warm evening in late summer, but drowsiness was already in the air. Neither of them would admit it, but they were a little on edge. Humping a king's daughter had seemed like a great joke at the time for the two men from a cold and damp fishing village on the Danish coast. They would be in her territory, and she would no doubt expect a decent performance from each of them. Not that this mattered, thought Erik, because it was their idea but even so there was some pride at stake. They were Vikings after all, but this wasn't like claiming a peasant girl. The princess hadn't appeared at all unnerved by their suggestion which had baffled him. He was both excited and nervous at the same time. 

They found the house, which fronted most of one side of a small square. It looked very different to the other place and Erik found himself wondering if this was really it, but it must be because there were guards wandering around. A couple were playing dice on the rim of a fountain. A stray dog wandered into sight and vanished again. Through the archway and they were inside the cool building. There was a small dining hall decorated interestingly. There were the usual banners, but also a display made from some old weapons Erik didn't recognise. Short wide swords were fanned into a neat arrangement around a circular metal shield. 

"Please come this way, the Lady is expecting you," up a stone stairway with a narrow open-air window set into the wall. Everything was clean and in good order. At the top of the stairs was a doorway which they were led through. The escort left. 

Aethelflaed was bending over a small hearth set up beneath one of the unglazed double arched windows that looked down onto the square below. Erik noted several of the guards being sent off duty. The view was very pretty, with the hills beyond easily visible but it would be too cold in winter without shutters or hangings.  
"Welcome," she said, standing up to greet them, "I hope you will take a little supper?" She had been stirring something in a shallow vessel over the fire. It smelled very good.  
"Is that an old shield?" Erik asked.  
"It is - we found a number of them around the old arena. The gladiators used them. This one was not good enough to display so I cleaned it up to cook with. It's surprisingly good for shellfish. Would you please pour three cups of wine and hand me one?" A signal to show good faith, that she had not drugged or poisoned the wine.

Erik looked around him. The room was presumably furnished in a style suitable to the building. There were two couches at right angles round a low square table. On another table was a strange-looking metal object which looked like a series of hoops. A shelf behind held some bottles of wine, a jug of water and one of ale. Three gilt goblets stood on the table, each decorated with a ring of glass gems. Cheap but pretty. He unstoppered one bottle and poured it out. 

It was a simple but lovely room. Not large or imposing like a public space, but private, informal, almost intimate. There was a niche that held a lamp and some leather-bound books and on the floor were two thick sheepskin rugs. Erik could just make out parts of a simple mosaic pattern beneath them which must have been original. Carefully, Aethelflaed prepared three bowls full of the warm food. "Smoked langoustines, fresh from the market this morning" she explained, indicating the large prawn-like shell fish. There was also some cooked salmon and some vegetables with a hint of ginger, and there was bread to mop it up with. 'I came to hump a king's daughter', thought Sigefrid, 'not be fed by her...' all the same it was hard not to relish all this. Erik looked thoughtfully at his brother who was carefully peeling the shell off a langoustine. Sigefrid was usually more at home gnawing the meat off a bone and throwing the remains to the dogs. 

Aethelflaed wore a long loose dress of a thin fabric which clung to her interestingly. She had light sandals on bare feet. Her hair was tied loosely back, presumably so she could see to cook. If they had expected her to be nervous or ill at ease they were wrong, because she seemed poised and natural, as if she were simply entertaining visitors. The only thing different was the clothing which looked elegantly seductive.

The food was good and served to put them all at ease. "You must tell me what you think of Lundene..." she said, refilling their goblets. And as the light faded into late evening, the lamps were lit and cast a warm glow over the whole room, making it even more inviting and comfortable. Erik was wondering when they would get round to the reason for their visit but the next time Aethelflaed rose it was only to bring a plate of fruit to the table. A glass bowl held figs, grapes, strawberries and plums. And to go with it a bottle of sweet honey mead. Outside a couple of lamps in the square lit up the old stones, but people did not linger now night had fallen and there were not many in the street. Still, it was a cosy scene.

Dinner was ending and the conversation seemed to be drying up. Suddenly, Aethelflaed asked, "Which of you is the older?"  
"I am" said Sigefrid with a sly smile. Silently, she rose to her feet and taking him by the hand, led him through a curtained opening by the entrance archway. The small room contained a bed, a lighted lampstand and a side table. She tapped the bed and said "I'll be right back." 

Erik had meanwhile been looking around the room. Aethelflaed walked up to the object of metal rings and said "This is a model of the planets and the moon. You might be interested in it - it has symbols along the sides, here." As he moved closer he caught her subtle perfume, it clung to her skin and enticed him, but he must wait... She indicated a book alongside the model, "and that is a bestiary, it shows all kinds of animals in faraway places. You might like to look at it." An unusual book with mostly pictures, how tactful of her, he thought. Then she pulled aside another curtain which concealed what was clearly her own sleeping chamber, "This is yours" she said softly. "and this" she indicated one final exit, "is a wash room. Please help yourself to more wine."

Erik felt uneasy. He and his brother had dreamed this up as a sort of clever prank on Alfred, but he found himself coming to respect Aethelflaed more and more. She must be nervous but she had too much character to show it. Still, they were Northmen when all was said and done, and they must just relish the experience.

Having spoken to Erik, Aethelflaed returned to his brother who had already got into bed and was waiting for her. "You might like to sit on the side of the bed," she said, a little primly. This had been Inga's idea, a way of getting used to the feel of someone's body. He did so, and she noticed that he had undressed completely. He wasn't exactly shy, was he? She pulled her own shift off over her head and let it fall to the floor. Kneeling on the bed behind him, she reached for a little jar and put some ointment into her hand. "Smell alright?" she waved it under his nose. He nodded. Carefully, she began to spread the ointment onto his neck and back, working it into the scars which criss-crossed his skin. As her hands warmed up, she could feel how tense he was. She pressed her fingers along the sides and back of his neck, and then lowered her hands to his shoulders. He didn't say anything but she could feel he was relaxing. As she moved her position she noticed that his eyes were closed.

She got him to lie down and continued the back rub down to his behind. and to the back of his legs. He gave a soft moan. The ointment was lightly perfumed but she could detect his own scent through it. It was manly and inoffensive but she wasn't especially attracted to it. She wondered if this is how it felt for those who did this for money? What did that make her? A prostitute? Perhaps, but she wasn't doing it for money but to help her people. She ran her hands back up his back, along both sides of his spine and said "Turn over".

There were more scars on his chest, which she focused on, avoiding what lay below. She stopped to look into his face, those impenetrable black eyes, slanting, deep. His skin had darker tones than his brother who was fair-haired and very pale. How could they be brothers, she thought? Sigefrid with his thick black beard and dark complexion could not have been more different to his brother. "Are you full brothers?" she asked him softly. He nodded. Hmmm, could they perhaps secretly have had two fathers? It was impossible to know yet there was nothing remotely similar about them. Even their ears were different. She slid her hands over the tops of his arms and down his torso. 

But what next? This was the first time she'd ever done anything to a man's body. Had she tried with Aethelred he would have demanded to know where she'd got her ideas from. So she never tried. Not that she wanted to anyway. Yet here, spread out before her was this stranger, this Northman, whom she had agreed to lie with. She must just get on with it then. He was already excited from the massage and looking at her body, so she encircled him in her palm as Inga had shown her and moved her hand up and down. His colouring was so dark, she thought, and his body hair so black; it was interesting, but she wasn't especially moved by it. But she found anyway that she could concentrate on pleasing him as best she could. She bent her head and ran her tongue along his length. Just because. Then, feeling that he was probably ready, she lay down beside him and pulled him on top of her.  
"Thought you were going to ride me." he muttered, feeling for her breasts.  
"Never done that," she replied quietly, as he positioned himself. She asked herself 'Am I really about to do it with a Viking? A relative stranger?' To her surprise the idea excited her as his fingers parted her folds and tentatively tested to see if she was ready for him. This was something that Aethelred had never bothered with. So Sigefrid did have a gentler side after all. She saw how his eyes glittered in the soft glow of the lamp as he slid into her. She braced herself out of habit for pain, but it didn't come. Fortunately he was big enough to be comfortable but not too big to hurt. She moved against him sinuously like a cat, sliding her arms around him and holding him tightly. He thrust into her several times and then came with a few gasps. 'I hope it was worth it', she thought. 

She turned away from him as he rolled off her, and curled up behind her, putting an arm around her and pulling her closer into him. This was actually quite nice, she thought as she nestled against him. She could feel the thatch of coarse black hair low against her skin and let herself experience the new sensation. These aspects of intimacy should have become so familiar to her by now and yet they were not. Perhaps that's why she was able to respond affectionately to this man who had recently crucified people just for fun. Here he was, warm, drowsy, unthreatening and - peaceful. She felt herself falling into sleep but remembered that she had another pledge to keep. She was hoping that Sigefrid was asleep so she could slip out from the covers and head to the wash room before meeting the brother. Would she have to wake Erik up when she went to her own bed, she wondered?

She was aware of a stiffening against her buttocks. He was clearly not sleeping yet. Well, she had better be generous, she supposed. If he was more than happy with her, he would be more than willing to leave Lundene. She made a wordless noise in her throat and pressed back against him. He placed her hand on his shaft and she squeezed it, hoping this was the right thing to do. A firm grip was clearly a good thing as she positioned herself to receive him again. This really wasn't so bad, she decided as he began moving rhythmically inside her. Mmmn, what was she doing, actually starting to enjoy this? I could lie here all night, I think... she mused before realising that he was subsiding. No pulling out for him then, he was only generous to a point. But that was all right, because she had arranged this evening carefully to avoid any consequences.

Surely now he would have fallen asleep? He seemed very still and silent, so she carefully turned onto her back and looked across at him. He opened his eyes and regarded her. Then he cupped the side of her face in his big hand and kissed her gently. This was as close as Sigefrid Thurgilson got to tenderness she realised and kissed him back. He encircled her in his powerful arms and pulled her into his warmth. It was delicious, she could happily stay there all night... 'This is lovely but I've got one more waiting,' she thought, and then wondered if he was delaying her deliberately. 

"You really not ride a man?" he asked slowly. He was trying to remember the English, she realised. "No," she said simply before adding, "you'd be surprised what I've not done." He gave a small frown, "He don't know how treat a good woman," he said with a low chuckle. There was little warmth in it, he was simply commenting. "We didn't like him," he added, "you too good."

Then as if he had decided to make it up to her, to give her a taste of what a real man can do, he began to kiss her passionately. They hadn't really kissed before and she'd never kissed a man with such a big beard. She'd already wondered what it was like to kiss a Viking - most Saxon women probably did - but here she was experiencing it herself. He tasted of sweet wine and ginger, she realised, and relaxed against him. Aethelred had rarely kissed her but when he had, she hadn't liked it. He had rammed his tongue roughly into her mouth as if he was trying to suffocate her. Everything in her marriage had been hellish, especially the intimate moments.

It was now or never. She had to get him to sleep. He was already beginning to forget his English, what more did he need? She ran her hands over his broad torso, pressing him roughly, as if she was overcome with desire. He responded well to this and when she reached down again, she found he was almost ready. How many times would it take? She could smell the remnants of the ointment on him as she traced her fingers along his scar lines. "You're a brave warrior," she muttered admiringly. Then he was lying on his back and pulling her onto him. Very well.... Carefully, she slid onto him, worried that this actually might hurt. But again she found that he wasn't too big for comfort. She eased him into herself and leaned forward slightly, watching his face. Better get this done, she figured and began to ride him vigorously. He arched up and into her and then it was all over.

And this time he really was asleep. She felt almost guilty as she slid out of the bed, careful not to disturb him. Technically she could have left him after the first time, but she hadn't felt right about it. She'd left an open fronted robe in his room and now slipped it on as she retrieved the jar of ointment and headed to the wash room to wash away the smell and the essence of Sigefrid and prepare herself for Erik.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK the orrery is anachronistic, but archaeological discoveries are being made all the time.....


	3. Erik

_"All night upon mine heart I felt his warm heart beat,  
Night-long within mine arms in love and sleep he lay "_ (Ernest Dowson, edited)

She reapplied the perfume that Inga had lent her; it smelled exotic, slightly musky, the fragrance of an Arabian garden at night time. Putting on the robe again and folding it round her, she stepped out of the wash room. He wasn't in the main room so he would have gone to bed already. She hoped he hadn't been too bored. 'This is a new man', she told herself, 'and I have to make him happy as well, however tired I feel'.

Erik was lying in bed, clearly dozing. She walked over to his side and sat on the edge. He looked up at her, "I'm sorry," she said, "He wouldn't go to sleep."  
He moved under the covers, "And we don't want him joining us," he said and gave a sleepy smile. Oh goodness! Would he do that? Sigefrid was no doubt capable of all kinds of mischief. She studied Erik's face for a moment while he became wakeful. His eyes were very blue, she realised, deeper than Inga's. As he had been sleepy, she thought it best to let him remain lying down. "Turn over," she whispered. He complied without murmur. Pulling the bedcovers down to his waistline, she opened the ointment jar. Having him in the bed meant she had to crawl on all fours over him. She started with his neck, exploring the tattoo at the base. It was slightly faded; he probably got it during his teen years when he yearned to be a warrior. She gently massaged it, running her fingers along the ink lines. His skin felt firm but with a silky bloom and she was surprised to find that it pleased her.

She ran her fingers up the back of his neck and explored the part of his head which was shaved. Her fingers trailed up to the line of blond hair and the neat braid. His face in profile lying on the pillow showed that he was relaxed but his eyes were open. Did he not trust her yet? She swept her hands down to his shoulders and rubbed the oil into the muscles there. He gave a weary sigh of contentment. Like his brother, Erik had scars, his skin a record of all the fights he had been in. Aethelflaed worked the ointment carefully into each scar line, running her fingers soothingly along each length. She grasped his sides and ran her hands down to his waist, and up again. It was possible, she realised, to feel the muscles beneath the skin, to detect where there was tightness. Her fingertips searched out those places and gently worked them until they had softened. She saw that his eyes were now closed. Up along his spine and down again to the small of his back. There was less scar tissue here, clearly the armour was thicker at this point. Pulling down the covers she exposed his lower body and the lovely curve of his buttocks. He really was like a work of art, one of the Greek sculptures which she had seen some years ago in a courtyard. With her nails she gently raked the surface of his skin and noted the little goosebumps which rose in their wake. She kneaded the flesh for a while and then told him to turn over.

How many times that night had a Thurgilson obeyed her without question? He turned onto his back and smiled gently at her, his eyes glowing in the soft light as if a hundred candles had lit them up from within. Wordlessly she moved over his chest, rubbing in ointment, taking care to use a lighter touch than on his back. She slid down beside him and reached for his manhood which rapidly hardened under her touch. He sighed again. For the first time Aethelflaed wondered if he would think she was a cheap girl who did this sort of thing a lot. She bent her head over him and took part of him into her mouth, running her tongue up and down the shaft several times. This one might be a bit more of a challenge, she thought, lying down again and pulling him on top of her. He had such a sweet scent and such lovely skin it was a shame to hurry things, but the hour was late and she realised she was tired.

He halted and looked down at her. To her surprise he pulled free of her and moved down the bed. "Uh?" she muttered, wondering what he was doing. In response he gently parted her legs and licked between them softly, finding the most sensitive part. What the -? She could hardly breathe, the sensation was so powerful and now he was fully in charge. "This is supposed to be for you, not me," she spoke in little gasps. He didn't reply but continued to lick and gently suck at her. Waves of heat and cold washed over her with each sensation. She had no idea that a man could do this to a woman, much less that anyone would do it to her.... His tongue reached her entrance and then he gently cupped her buttocks in his hands as he readied himself and slowly entered her.

This was like nothing she had ever imagined. She had found making love with Sigefrid quite nice and certainly not the endurance feat she had with Aethelred, but this was something entirely different. Erik was taking her with him, giving her pleasure along with his own. She gazed up into his deep blue eyes and saw desire and tenderness, and suddenly it was as if the whole room was filled with light and sparks as she cried aloud, hardly able to bear the sensations that pulsed through her causing her to buck like a wild horse. She supposed it must be like that for him as well because suddenly they were collapsed together among the bedclothes. She laughed nervously, embarrassed by her reaction to him.  
"That was nice," she said finally "thank you."  
"My pleasure, Lady." He trailed a lazy finger down her breastbone to her navel, resting his hand on her belly. Aethelflaed had never been very confident about her body. She thought her breasts were too small and insignificant but now he was gently caressing them as if they were precious alabaster. She moved towards him and rested her head on his shoulder. His arms enfolded her and held her against him. 

For some reason she felt a deep sadness suddenly come upon her; this wasn't supposed to happen, was it? This was strictly a bargain between herself and the brothers to get them to leave Lundene. She wasn't supposed to enjoy it, and she certainly wasn't intending to linger in pleasure. She wanted it done and over with - didn't she? So why did she feel sad, all of a sudden? Was it the realisation that she didn't want him to leave Lundene, or even her home? That with him gone her bed would seem cold and unwelcoming night after night? How could she endure it with the memory of their rapturous lovemaking?

She must have fallen asleep because she awakened to find her head lying on the pillow again, with him sleeping beside her. Instinctively she curled up against him, nestling into his side and snaking her arm around his middle. He stirred and pulled her closer again. Aethelflaed recalled that she had given herself three times to Sigefrid, which was not really fair to his brother. She turned away from him and pushed her backside against him, testing. He put a hand on her hip and left it there. It was nice just to snuggle with him; what a lovely way to fall asleep...

The pale dawn light filtered through the fine drape at her window and she awoke to the birdsong outside. Behind her she could feel Erik breathing in sleep, his arm still around her. It was still too early for her guards to be stirring although there would have been men sleeping at the entrance and within the hall. She sighed with happiness. Had she ever wakened in such a way? She was suddenly conscious of the man beside her, from deep within his pillow she heard a grunt and felt him move. She made an involuntary sound and put a hand behind her to caress him lazily. She had meant to stroke his flank but her hand met something else instead. Was he really ready again? She felt his hand on her buttock which moved down between her legs to the place where she would open up to him. In her hand his manhood felt larger than his brother's. Would it matter, she wondered? The first time she had been so intoxicated with him that she hadn't noticed or cared, but it might not always be like that..... He slid a finger gently in and out of her and then entered her properly and slowly so as not to hurt her, pushing deep inside and together they lay coupled, unmoving. His hand slid round to her belly and lower, caressing and stroking her. It was not possible to take much more of this and she climaxed hard against him, writhing and moaning loudly in hoarse gasps. Quickly he put a hand over her mouth and cautioned "Shh, shh", but this excited her even more. He was right, she should not make too much noise or people around and outside would know that the Lady of the Mercians was being pleasured by someone not married to her. And a Dane at that...

The next time she awoke it was to the sound of movement outside but not many people were awake yet. The bakers were already up of course, making the day's bread, getting the ovens hot in readiness for the days' work. This city hardly slept at all... a bit like herself and Erik, perhaps, she thought mischievously.

Propping herself on one elbow she looked down at him and let her hand travel over his chest, marvelling at the strength of him. He must be a very formidable fighter she thought. His arms, thick with years of sword fighting bore witness to his way of life with a row of bruises. Even fading, they looked dull and painful. She wanted to kiss each one lingeringly but there were other things to see to. Questioningly she moved her hand lower and gripped him again. How much could this man take?  
"I thought you were a sword-Dane...?" she mused, suddenly.  
"I am," He agreed, slightly puzzled.  
"Well at the moment I'd call you a spear-Dane." She teased, squeezing him. He gave a short laugh and reached up to pull her down. They wrestled with each other for some time and he showed her exactly what kind of Dane he was.

"What shall we do?" she asked him. He wasn't asleep but lying on his back looking at the ceiling. He sighed, "I don't know.... it would be good to see each other again soon, wouldn't it? To spend time together." He said tentatively.  
"Yes," she said firmly, "it would."  
"I can't just let you go," he replied wistfully.  
"Then don't."

There was a lot to think about and discuss. Their worlds were so different, but in the England of her father's dreams, Dane and Saxon would live in unity. She and Erik would be a sign of that, of the England to come. Slowly, the sun came up and cast long shadows on their bed, rousing them to face the new day.


End file.
